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inanga > Jville surrounded by Memories Collage courtesy of Picasa 3, SmugMug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009 inanga
inanga > Google Earth catches Rick Collage courtesy of Picasa 3, SmugMug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009 He could be seen in an earlier pic. If you haved lived in Jville for a while you will know Rick, a good mate who is absolutely illiterate when it comes to computers. Well the Google cameras caught him in his front yard. Is there no space sacred anymore? I don't think he's worried about it, but the idea of a lawsuit for 'Invasion of Privacy' has entered his head a few times. No, then it occurred to him that he had his bike helmet on. Lawsuit out the door... Enough of this... PS Rick's biggest dream is to go to Sturgis for the 'gathering'. i dare say a spell on the curves of the Black Hills would bring him closer to God. And no doubt he'd enjoy the party afterwards... Question from me: 'Are motorcycle patches allowed? We are having big problems downunder with bureaucracy cracking down on 'patches' and facial moko (tattoos). i'm not a biker ('bikie' down here) but surely responsible use and good direction of the 'foot soldiers' should overcome this. As for a man's moko or a woman's chin moko, no one has the right to fail to accord the wearers of these the rights of human decency. The opponents of both patches and moko are weak, hiding behind a rather sluggish NZ media. i suppose i asked this question because if Rick gets to Sturgis he will probably want to wear his patched jacket (his tribe is his secret) and he definitely has lots of facial moko. inanga
inanga > Whitebait's On-line Travelogue: 'I still call NZ home' For some strange reason the combination of Smug-icons and the red lines returning again to Aotearoa (New Zealand) forever reminds me of my own life. I spent a long time leaving Australia or New Zealand and returning, The Smug-icons on this map (from my gallery to Geo-coded Google Earth Locations of my paintings) are reminders of the places in Kiwiland that influenced my upbringing. All in all the whole exercise leads to a massive bout of introspection. I have changed what I wrote earlier here because I learnt a valuable exercise in 'flexibility' when I was in LA recently. It all happened because I got an Apple iPhone. No this is not an ad for Apple's technology at all. It is an introspective ramble on 'it is alright to change your mind'. And then there is Facebook - I became addicted. But that was easily solved. I turned this addiction into a preference, unlike some of my other addictions which I have to watch like a hawk! And then there is the fringe web of collective consciousness and concern for our lot and that of others in this technological morass. Sites appear like crop circles without little explanation and show some of the true character of the face watching the screen and holding the mouse. Wikipedia and Knol are born and the wisdom is shared further. Good causes have an international voice - vox populi goes feral! I look at this pic - a video-ed dowload of my computer screen - an auto snapshot loaded into Picasa 3 on-line photo editor - edited in Picasa 3 (clever name!) - uploaded to a SmugMug gallery based on a giant Google-connected server - all using Mozilla Firefox - getting into this particular gallery via a Plogsite and then arranging it by thumbnails so this pic features - all in five minutes. I look at the two thumbnails on the right of this screen capture, both of Pitagliano now in my Tuscany Gallery, and think of the amount of time that went into painting those to get them right. Maybe this techno-art mix - paintings to galleries to world - is a new genre that I am caught up in. But to what effect I ask rhetorically. The end rest is techno-art in the age of nanosecond expectation. Here is a gallery flouted around the globe with a pic highlighting the place where I was born and always seem to return to highlighted by red arrows and Smug-icons, created in five minutes, with little or no thought that would look good in a 100% Clean Green New Zealand campaign - and we all know that isn't true - or on cover of a NZ Tourism brochure for possible visitors. Incidentally I have an Australian passport. I got this, even though I was born in Greymouth, because the inefficient and poorly-run New Zealand Passport Office makes it too difficult for its own citizens to get such documentation. I have witnessed it time and time again - so I went to the Australian Passport Office, satisfied their criteria, and obtained in quick time a brand spanking new Ozzie document. So a boy from Greymouth now travels on an Ozzie passport because of his own country's bureaucratic inadequacies. I wonder if I can get one of theirs (the Poms) too and travel at Her Majesty's pleasure; maybe a US Green Card, or the creme de la creme - a Swiss passport. Enough of this introspective rambling inanga out screen presentation courtesy of Picasa 3, Smugmug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009
inanga > We have real evidence... Yes i found the Lost Dutchman's Mine on Treasure Island - that is a wrist amulet still around the radius and ulna bones of a treasure hunter - but i am here in Aotearoa (NZ) 'miles from nowhere' and would dearly love to be walking north up Peralta Road at the moment towards Miner's Needle and beyond... yes Miner's and Weaver's Needles will become important clues later. But now... the Mexican told me not to trust the Clown as he was a Lutheran, so i knew to trust Gerry the Clown to the max. The Clown knew more about healing plants than any other shaman i had met. Don't trust the Clown - that's your call. Martin Luther was an incredible phi-losopher and raconteur. So much so that one of my true heroes was given his name: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.] I sat gazing out at the Superstitions that loomed in the east across Apache Trail (now Hwys 60 and 88). The Superstitions were steeped in mystery. Out there in those stark hills was the Lost Dutchman's Mine or at least a vast cache of Jacob Walzer's gold. I knew that in order to find it I would have to tap into the earth energies. Many thousands of treasure hunters had combed the hills looking for the legendary gold and many had died in the process. There are few places of such intense mystery left on this earth. The Superstitions are said to be the area of twisting canyons, mesa and rock piles between the Apache Trail in the west and Rogers and Reavis canyons on the east of the mountainous bulk. The most prominent feature in this region is Weaver's Needle, which dominates this portion of the vast Sonoran Desert. i thought through the legends. According to the Pima, relatives of the Tohono o'Odham, the great Montezuma had mined these hills with a large army of captured slaves. The ruler stashed his gold in a great cave in the mountains. He foresaw disaster and gathered together his workers and went to the cave for shelter. The earth shook violently and the mountains were rent apart. The mouth of the cave was sealed, entombing Montezuma, the gold and the slaves forever. Montezuma was followed by Coronado who mounted an expedition to seek out the riches of the seven cities of Cibola. He found the cities to be nothing more than Zuni pueblo. He pushed on hoping to find the riches of Gran Quivira, but again was disappointed, finding only pueblo and cliff dwellings. The Apaches tell of other Spaniards secreting an enormous amount of silver and gold in a cave, only to disappear never to return to retrieve the treasure. But Apaches are newcomers to the area, having come north from Mexico, and would only know of recent events. The Spaniards may have been priests, abandoning Santa Fe, New Mexico, who wished to store their treasure closer to where they were intending to settle. Was it from these repositories that Geronimo obtained gold with which to buy guns? The Apache were raiders and nomads and used the fastnesses of the Superstitions to retreat to after raids upon the pueblos of the peaceful Pima and Maricopa. After a considerable time the Maricopa retaliated and followed the Apache into the Superstitions. A great battle followed and many Apache and Maricopa were killed. The Apaches felt that they had been abandoned by their gods. They in turn vacated the Superstitions, leaving it as a zone forbidden to all except their Thunder God. A hot breeze blew across the mesa rustling the treacherous chollo cactus nearby. I thought of all those gold seekers who had been lost in the Superstitions in search of the gold. Gold, gold, gold… It turns the sane into lunatics, and the lazy into the frenzied. I was wondering whether or not the Lost Dutchman was my reason for coming to Arizona. If I found the gold i could do much for the environment of my home country, Aotearoa. The authorities would never let me take it from the United States but the publicity would be wonderful for the success of a subsequent and lucrative account of the search. What concerned me was that the pursuit of wealth in such a manner smacked of materialistic desire, something that I was rapidly eschewing. With materialism went ego, and ego had no place whatsoever in a spiritual search. And the spiritual search was paramount. I knew there was a link between the Tohono o'Odham or Hohokam and the pre-Maori Waitaha and later Maori people of my own birthplace. From where i was sitting I could look back to Phoenix and the plain where the Tohono o'Odham, the finger-language people, had built the elaborate system of irrigation canals in the Salt River Valley. I remembered reading about Los Muertos, the city of the dead, an o'Odham town, a few miles south of Tempe, where their physical bodies had been placed when their souls were taken to the Otherworld. Like their Celtic relatives they had buried their dead with gold ornaments and elaborate pottery. The o'Odham mined copper from which they fashioned bells and they knew how to smelt gold. The ancient knowledge was with them. They had no fear or superstition. For two thousand years their civilisation thrived, perhaps longer. Then they disappeared and were called Hohokam, 'those who have gone'. i knew that their spirits still dwelt in this land. i couldn't communicate directly with them but someone was guiding me. i stared across the valley towards the mountains. The answer lay in their somewhere and i realised that the Lost Dutchman's Mine on Treasure Island was the enticing carrot, and that another more greater revelation lay beyond. i would enter the Superstitions alone to seek the answers. i must go alone or i would not be shown a thing. The preceding days appeared to be preparation for this adventure. The first to see gold in the Superstitions was Abraham Thorne, friend of the frontiersman Kit Carson. He was army physician at Fort McDowell and in the course of his duties he treated many Apache and they respected him highly. When he finished service at McDowell the Apache contacted him and expressed their wish to give him a gift. He agreed and they took him blindfolded on horseback to a canyon. When he reached the canyon the blindfold was removed and their was a quantity of gold at his feet. He tried to work out where he was but was never completely sure. After selling the gold in California he returned to look for the canyon. It confirmed that there was gold in the region, and that the Apache knew its location. Thorne never found more gold. The Lost Dutchman himself was an enigmatic figure. To some he was all bad, to others good, but to all he passed on a legend. Jacob Walzer was a German immigrant who arrived in New York in 1862. Two years later he was in Prescott, Arizona. He wandered the hills in search of gold and on one occasion, near Florence, was in the company of Jacob Wisner when they heard the sound of digging in a canyon. They saw two miners, Ludi and Jacobs, mining on the high side of a hill. The two Jacobs aimed and fired their rifles, killing Ludi and Jacobs. What were Ludi and Jacobs doing there? In the 1840s a Miguel Peralta of Sonora, Mexico, had sent his three sons, Manuel, Pedro and Ramon on a search for gold in Arizona (Ed note: direct relatives of the Mexican!). Around the area now known as Mormon Flats they found gold. They traced the source towards the mother lode and found more rich deposits, eventually opening up eight mines. All the while they were being watched by the Apaches. They accumulated more gold than they could carry back to Mexico and decided to stash what they couldn't carry. Three maps were drawn of the mine locations, one for each of the brothers. The Peraltas, spurred by the changing political situation between the United States and Mexico, decided to return to gather the remaining gold. Manuel, now married, stayed home and a cousin Gonzales went in his stead. The large group split into three and mined hurriedly, all the time being observed by the Apaches, concerned that such a large number had come to their lands. The Apaches struck Gonzales's group in Canyon Fresco. Gonzales was the lone survivor, and he struggled back to Ramon's group to warn him. Pedro's group was warned, but when the two groups came together the Apaches attacked again. A pitched battle raged in what is now Peralta Canyon for three days. When the Apaches were sure that all the intruders were dead they sealed all of the mine entrances bar one perched high on a canyon wall. Miraculously it was Gonzales who escaped. He returned to Sonora, Mexico, vowing never to return to the Superstitions. But legend becomes confused and we switch to Manuel, the surviving Peralta brother. In 1860 he meets Ludi and Jacobs in a bar and they get stuck into the tequila, salt and lemon - as you would in a bar. He has to return to Sonora to attend the funeral of his father Miguel. Before going he hands over the map - one of three of the locations of the eight mines - which had been prepared some ten years earlier. Ludi and Jacobs had heard similar stories before, especially in the boast induced by tequila, so they did nothing for eleven years. The two miners went in search of the gold in 1871, found the rich lode, and began digging. Then along came the two Jacobs, Walzer and Wisner, who shot them dead. The next day the two return to the mine but Walzer shoots his side kick dead. The gold is all his, the secret is all his. Another story is brief but equally as interesting. Walzer is living with a Native American woman in Phoenix and she knows the secret location of the mine. After considerable persuasion the woman leads him to the gold. Walzer gets the gold but his partner is punished. Shortly after her return to Phoenix, the woman's tribespeople captured her and cut out her tongue so she would never tell another soul. Lastly, the acceptable version of events. Walzer and Wisner found the mine by chance during a prospecting trip into the Superstitions. Their repeated visits into Florence to replenish supplies caused tongues to wag in the town. Walzer, known as the 'Dutchman', and Wisner had found a rich source of gold. The Dutchman, returning from picking up supplies in Florence, found Wisner dead, the victim of an Apache attack most probably. he then buries his side kick, covers up all signs of the mine and then gets the hell out of the canyon, his saddlebags stuffed with gold. For the next ten years the Dutchman would make a number of visits to the mine to retrieve gold. No one knew when he was going there and he was always careful to cover his tracks. When he was next seen he would be in Phoenix unloading gold from his burro. Walzer only ever gave a few obscure clues about the mine's location. The gold was in a chimney of rose quartz 18 inches wide, no 'miner' would ever find it, there was one large cache of gold remaining near the mine, and that you almost stumbled into the mine before seeing it. He left other clues about a rock formation which looked like a face, and certain other directional information. If Walzer was anything like he appears in his many short biographies then I regarded that he would be trying to pull the collective legs of his listeners. So I disregarded this information. If the Thunder God wanted someone to find the treasures, these King Solomon's Mines of the Americas, then he would lead them through the Superstitions. The search for the poetic myth winds through many intertwining corridors, and temptations are the obstacles placed in the face of the searcher. For more on Somanetics and Rue look under 'it that is is what it is' in Scrolls and Boxes of Wisdom http://www.hogproductions.com/School/Scrolls-and-Boxes-of-Wisdom/8875993_fXM7v#589442798_ZHvg9 Included therein is a simple cure to many major human afflictions, with full supporting medical documentary evidence. Worth a read!
inanga > It's fun with a magnifying glass! Collage When you view this oversize - 'O' on selection bar - you realise that there are some really smart programmers in Silicon Valley. I dedicate this to the inventors of SmugMug and if they care to get in contact with me the original of 'Kundalini Rising' is theirs (i will frame it for you). A father and son, I believe. Appropriate this day in Aotearoa as it is Father's Day - Sunday 6 September 2009. courtesy of Picasa 3, Google, SmugMug and Mozilla Firefox 2009 inanga
inanga > Tuscany Collage Series 'A few nanoseconds in Sorano' Centrepiece by inanga, surrounding originals by inanga courtesy of Picasa 3, SmugMug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009
inanga > Dad Visits My Dad, who was certainly not the devoutest man in his earthly life, appears out of nowhere in this photo shoot of 'Greenstone Buddha' in priestly garb. That's him peering around the side with a bald head. He looks a bit like me, but I was behind a camera and tripod at the time, and I have a full head of hair. Happy Father's Day Dad. Spooky! inanga
inanga > Camaldoli, Tuscany Mapped Introduction to Tuscany Mapped Slideshow. This is a carrot to get you to go exploring using Google Earth in this Tuscany gallery. You can go to 'Map This', and then zoom in and out and flick to other sites (apart from this one) to learn more about Tuscany as it would appear in the Michelin guide where I copied my paintings from their excellent photographs. I hope they don't mind at Michelin - I buy their tyres for Vernon the Vauxhall. Now his battery is flat. As James Blunt reminds me 'Is there no justice in the world'. Ms P, of Italian extraction, likes this. She was a nanny in Firenze - we Googled the house she worked at in the Florence Hills. You lucky people there in paradise. inanga
inanga > The irenicon irenicism: the journey towards a better understanding of our relationship with God. It is the seed of the Trees of Life. The irenicon in the Book of the Book harks to the wisdom of I Kings, IV, 33: "And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much ... and he spake of trees, from the cedar that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that is upon the wall..." The irenicon i Sing Goddess... Open your left palm, Spread it like a rainbow, Look at the tips, Of your fingers; Left to right... Tip of the thumb is Beth, Noble birch, A self-propogating mystery, A flogging to spell away evil, Tree of inception, First month of the year; Now the cold solstice is gone. Tip of the forefinger is Luis, Quickbeam rowan, The compeller of demons, To admit the basest Truth, Quickfires of battle, For whom the dragon is guardian; An immobilizer of ghosts. Tip of the middle finger is Nion, Poseidon's ash, Charm against drowning, and friend to seafarers, Strangler of fellow trees, The power found in water; In the month of floods. Tip of the psychic finger is Fearn, The alder of Bran, Who stands in the front line, "... the very battle witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight", The bonfire of Branwen's romance; "A burnt house, for a cut alder." Tip of the ear-finger is Saille, Willow of the death goddess, Tree of Hecate, Circe, Hera and Persephone, Much worshipped by witches; "Burn not the willow, a tree sacred to poets." Look at your fingertips Beth, Luis, Nion, Fearn, Saille Five sacred trees Of the Dichetal do Chennaib: "Tree powers, Fingertips, First pentad of the four, Discover, all your poet asks; Drumming on his brow. Birch peg, throbbing thumb, By power of divination, Bring him news of love; Loud the heart knocks. Rowan rod, forefinger, By power of divination, Unriddle him a riddle; The key"s cast away. Ash, middle finger, By power of divination, Weatherwise, fool otherwise; Mete him out the winds. Alder, psychic finger, By power of divination, Diagnose all maladies; Of a doubtful mind. Willow wand, ear finger, By power of divination, Force confessions from the mouth; Of a mouldering corpse. Finger-ends, five twigs, Trees, true divining trees, Discover all your poet asks; Drumming on his brow." "Under the tongue root, A fight most dread, And another raging; Behind, in the head." ii Glance again at your fingers, And before the first knucle, See another; Five sacred trees. We begin with H-uath, Or hawthorn, or May, The whitethorn of Maia, some say, "Ne'er cast a clout, ere May be out", And Hermes conduct your souls to hell, The giant father of Olwen; Stands guard at the sacred well. Next is mighty Duir, Of Jupiter, Zeus and Hercules, Royal tree to All'ah, Compassionate and Merciful, Stout oak of the door, That separates Dagda, from Thor; The wisdom: that keeps a poet poor. On the middle finger, Spy the holly, passion of Christ, Oh, spy the flowers of July, And "... see a lady where she sate, Between an oak and a green hollen, She was clad in red scarlet." Was she Tinne, of the increase? The psychic finger, in the nutting season, And for this we have good reason, Look deep into the dripping branches, Of Coll to find; Poetic knowledge of Aes Sidha. The first of the two mysteries, Of the crane's bag begins, At the first joint of your ear finger, You will find Quert, close companion to the hazel, You have found sorb apple, Food of the god Apollo; Tree of poetic resurrection. H-uath, Duir, Tinne, Coll, Quert, The second sacred five, Of fifteen sacred trees; Hidden in your fingertips, in varying degrees. "Clay, water, wool and blood, wood, lime, and flax thread a full twist, Acacia, bitumen and virtue - The nine materials; of Nimrod's Tower." iii The second knuckles, More trees reveal, And spell out an ancient calendar, Read again, from left to right; And find your way, towards second sight. Muin begins, the tenth month, The spotted snake on the hill, The skilled, powerful artist, The hill of poetry, The noble vine in the vintage season, A principle ornament in the Temple of Jerusalem, Between the twin towers - Boaz and Joachim; The poet seeks resurrection. Gort, the flowering ivy, Is found beneath the mighty oak, In the season of the autumnal Dionysus, When the souls of the Mysterion, Imbibe ambrosia, In the eleventh month of Ariadne; All witness Christ, son of Alpha. In the middle is Ngetal, The reed sceptre of pharoahs, The sovereign arrows of sun-gods, The threatening noise of the sea, A wave breaking on a beach; Ready for cutting, in the twelth month. The second of the twin mysteries, Is found upon the psychic finger, For here lurks the blackthorn, The mirror of H-uath is Straif, Noble ignominy of Jesus, attired in scarlet; Dark heart of the poet's soul. And last comes, elder of the waterside, Ah, you will remember, "The curs'd elder and the fatal yew, With witch [rowan] and nightshade, in their shadows grew," Ruis is the thirteenth month; And the tree, upon which Judas was hung. Muin, Gort, Ngetal, Straif, Ruis Five more sacred trees, Talking from your fingertips, Telling, living, foreseeing secrets, Such clever consonants; In different degrees. "Jehovah was sworn and will not repent: thou art a priest, forever after the order of Melchizedek." iv But what of the vowels? "Sweet cauldron of the Five Trees", Upon which are sworn Oaths of holy tetractys; What of?: Ailm, Onn, Ura, Eadha, Idho, What of these mysteries, of the crane's bag, The Triple Goddess in three aspects, Maiden, women, crone, perhaps, Beginning, prime and end, The mysteries of a poet's Muse, What of birth, What of initiation, and consummation; What of repose, death and poetic salvation? BIRTH He or she shall be found... Ailm is the silver fir, Sacred to Artemis, the Moon Goddess, The tree of phoenix birth, It is of Io, and under the fir, Was born the god of Byblos; First station of the year. Ailm, the beginning, Was it not of you that was constructed, The clever horse of Troy? You are the day, Of the birth of any, divine child, Man or woman; In any age. INITIATION He or she shall do wonders... Onn is the furze, Prickles of the spring equinox, "The furze but ill-behaved, Until he is subdued", The fiery daughter of youth, Good against bad witches, And worshipped by Gauls; In ash groves. The ash and fir, are the blaze, on every hill, Onn and Nion, praise great Yggrdrasil, Sacred to Wotan, Odin, Gwydion, The furze is the Dominical wand, That sprang from the blood of Uranus; When castrated, by angry Cronos. CONSUMMATION He or she shall reign... "The crane must aye, take nine steps ere she flie." I am Ura, gathered heather, I am of Isis and Venus, And I dine on venison milk, and eagle's breasts; I set my chair in a womb of hills. I am the season of women, The season of heaven bloom, I am Arianrhod, the Queen of the circle of life, I reign in my prime now; And dispense children before advice. REPOSE He or she shall rest... Again, upon the psychic finger, Find Eadha as the crane cries, "I am the fourth tree, of the autumn equinox and old age, I am shifting leaves of white poplar, I am aspen, shield-maker's tree; Some say: 'I am the loss, of all hope.' Beside the psychic finger, You will find, the path you take, Towards your death, Think now, think hard, think long; Can I live forever; And like the poet, be immortal? "Moses obtained, By suffering, and In great necessity, The aid of three; Dominical rods. Solomon obtained, in Babel's Tower, All the sciences; Of Asia's land." DEATH He or she cannot live forever... You must overcome me, I am Idho, tree of death, Sacred to Hecate, Black bulls were sacrificed to me and, "Ghosts would lap their gushing blood; Wreathed with yew." I am the bow, and the poisoned arrows, Fired deep into the hearts, Of those that fear death, I am "... slips of yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse", A double fatal yew; The spell of final knowledge. Win my favour, The favour of death itself, And I will give you; The end before... v SALVATION And you shall be saved... Two hidden trees, sacred mysteries, Are found far beyond, the hand's palm, In these two trees, The answer will not be, "Fir, womb of silver pain, Yew, tomb of leaden grief," Gone shall be strife, When you realise; Death only begets life. Only these two trees, Know when salmon, Kings and Queens of river fish, Retire from philosophy, Only these trees, Have been set adrift; on boundless seas. Only these two trees, Inspire poets to learn, All secrets of the cosmos, All secrets of the sun, moon and stars, All the secrets, Of Jupiter, Mercury; Saturn, Venus and Mars. Alpha and Omega, The beginning to the end, The end and the beginning, Ask - "Sweet apple-tree crimson in hue, Which grows concealed in Forest Celyddon..." Where to find the sacred thicket, Where do you find the palm and mistletoe together? The herald of new life; And the berry of life itself? I am Ailm, the womb of every holt, I am Onn, the blaze on every hill, I am Ura, the Queen of every hive, I am Eadha, the shield to every head, I am Idho, the tomb to every hope, I am Omega, the gate to every hell, I am Alpha Tetragrammaton, the door to every heaven, I am consort to the celestial goddess, I am the celestial goddess, At times; I am your fingertips... inanga
Whitebait's On-line Travelogue: 'I still call NZ home'

For some strange reason the combination of Smug-icons and the red lines returning again to Aotearoa (New Zealand) forever reminds me of my own life. I spent a long time leaving Australia or New Zealand and returning, The Smug-icons on this map (from my gallery to Geo-coded Google Earth Locations of my paintings) are reminders of the places in Kiwiland that influenced my upbringing. All in all the whole exercise leads to a massive bout of introspection.

I have changed what I wrote earlier here because I learnt a valuable exercise in 'flexibility' when I was in LA recently. It all happened because I got an Apple iPhone. No this is not an ad for Apple's technology at all. It is an introspective ramble on 'it is alright to change your mind'. And then there is Facebook - I became addicted. But that was easily solved. I turned this addiction into a preference, unlike some of my other addictions which I have to watch like a hawk!

And then there is the fringe web of collective consciousness and concern for our lot and that of others in this technological morass. Sites appear like crop circles without little explanation and show some of the true character of the face watching the screen and holding the mouse. Wikipedia and Knol are born and the wisdom is shared further. Good causes have an international voice - vox populi goes feral!

I look at this pic - a video-ed dowload of my computer screen - an auto snapshot loaded into Picasa 3 on-line photo editor - edited in Picasa 3 (clever name!) - uploaded to a SmugMug gallery based on a giant Google-connected server - all using Mozilla Firefox - getting into this particular gallery via a Plogsite and then arranging it by thumbnails so this pic features - all in five minutes. I look at the two thumbnails on the right of this screen capture, both of Pitagliano now in my Tuscany Gallery, and think of the amount of time that went into painting those to get them right. Maybe this techno-art mix - paintings to galleries to world - is a new genre that I am caught up in.

But to what effect I ask rhetorically. The end rest is techno-art in the age of nanosecond expectation. Here is a gallery flouted around the globe with a pic highlighting the place where I was born and always seem to return to highlighted by red arrows and Smug-icons, created in five minutes, with little or no thought that would look good in a 100% Clean Green New Zealand campaign - and we all know that isn't true - or on cover of a NZ Tourism brochure for possible visitors.

Incidentally I have an Australian passport. I got this, even though I was born in Greymouth, because the inefficient and poorly-run New Zealand Passport Office makes it too difficult for its own citizens to get such documentation. I have witnessed it time and time again - so I went to the Australian Passport Office, satisfied their criteria, and obtained in quick time a brand spanking new Ozzie document. So a boy from Greymouth now travels on an Ozzie passport because of his own country's bureaucratic inadequacies. I wonder if I can get one of theirs (the Poms) too and travel at Her Majesty's pleasure; maybe a US Green Card, or the creme de la creme - a Swiss passport.

Enough of this introspective rambling

inanga out

screen presentation courtesy of Picasa 3, Smugmug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009
inanga > Whitebait's On-line Travelogue: 'I still call NZ home' For some strange reason the combination of Smug-icons and the red lines returning again to Aotearoa (New Zealand) forever reminds me of my own life. I spent a long time leaving Australia or New Zealand and returning, The Smug-icons on this map (from my gallery to Geo-coded Google Earth Locations of my paintings) are reminders of the places in Kiwiland that influenced my upbringing. All in all the whole exercise leads to a massive bout of introspection. I have changed what I wrote earlier here because I learnt a valuable exercise in 'flexibility' when I was in LA recently. It all happened because I got an Apple iPhone. No this is not an ad for Apple's technology at all. It is an introspective ramble on 'it is alright to change your mind'. And then there is Facebook - I became addicted. But that was easily solved. I turned this addiction into a preference, unlike some of my other addictions which I have to watch like a hawk! And then there is the fringe web of collective consciousness and concern for our lot and that of others in this technological morass. Sites appear like crop circles without little explanation and show some of the true character of the face watching the screen and holding the mouse. Wikipedia and Knol are born and the wisdom is shared further. Good causes have an international voice - vox populi goes feral! I look at this pic - a video-ed dowload of my computer screen - an auto snapshot loaded into Picasa 3 on-line photo editor - edited in Picasa 3 (clever name!) - uploaded to a SmugMug gallery based on a giant Google-connected server - all using Mozilla Firefox - getting into this particular gallery via a Plogsite and then arranging it by thumbnails so this pic features - all in five minutes. I look at the two thumbnails on the right of this screen capture, both of Pitagliano now in my Tuscany Gallery, and think of the amount of time that went into painting those to get them right. Maybe this techno-art mix - paintings to galleries to world - is a new genre that I am caught up in. But to what effect I ask rhetorically. The end rest is techno-art in the age of nanosecond expectation. Here is a gallery flouted around the globe with a pic highlighting the place where I was born and always seem to return to highlighted by red arrows and Smug-icons, created in five minutes, with little or no thought that would look good in a 100% Clean Green New Zealand campaign - and we all know that isn't true - or on cover of a NZ Tourism brochure for possible visitors. Incidentally I have an Australian passport. I got this, even though I was born in Greymouth, because the inefficient and poorly-run New Zealand Passport Office makes it too difficult for its own citizens to get such documentation. I have witnessed it time and time again - so I went to the Australian Passport Office, satisfied their criteria, and obtained in quick time a brand spanking new Ozzie document. So a boy from Greymouth now travels on an Ozzie passport because of his own country's bureaucratic inadequacies. I wonder if I can get one of theirs (the Poms) too and travel at Her Majesty's pleasure; maybe a US Green Card, or the creme de la creme - a Swiss passport. Enough of this introspective rambling inanga out screen presentation courtesy of Picasa 3, Smugmug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009
Whitebait's On-line Travelogue: 'I still call NZ home'

For some strange reason the combination of Smug-icons and the red lines returning again to Aotearoa (New Zealand) forever reminds me of my own life. I spent a long time leaving Australia or New Zealand and returning, The Smug-icons on this map (from my gallery to Geo-coded Google Earth Locations of my paintings) are reminders of the places in Kiwiland that influenced my upbringing. All in all the whole exercise leads to a massive bout of introspection.

I have changed what I wrote earlier here because I learnt a valuable exercise in 'flexibility' when I was in LA recently. It all happened because I got an Apple iPhone. No this is not an ad for Apple's technology at all. It is an introspective ramble on 'it is alright to change your mind'. And then there is Facebook - I became addicted. But that was easily solved. I turned this addiction into a preference, unlike some of my other addictions which I have to watch like a hawk!

And then there is the fringe web of collective consciousness and concern for our lot and that of others in this technological morass. Sites appear like crop circles without little explanation and show some of the true character of the face watching the screen and holding the mouse. Wikipedia and Knol are born and the wisdom is shared further. Good causes have an international voice - vox populi goes feral!

I look at this pic - a video-ed dowload of my computer screen - an auto snapshot loaded into Picasa 3 on-line photo editor - edited in Picasa 3 (clever name!) - uploaded to a SmugMug gallery based on a giant Google-connected server - all using Mozilla Firefox - getting into this particular gallery via a Plogsite and then arranging it by thumbnails so this pic features - all in five minutes. I look at the two thumbnails on the right of this screen capture, both of Pitagliano now in my Tuscany Gallery, and think of the amount of time that went into painting those to get them right. Maybe this techno-art mix - paintings to galleries to world - is a new genre that I am caught up in.

But to what effect I ask rhetorically. The end rest is techno-art in the age of nanosecond expectation. Here is a gallery flouted around the globe with a pic highlighting the place where I was born and always seem to return to highlighted by red arrows and Smug-icons, created in five minutes, with little or no thought that would look good in a 100% Clean Green New Zealand campaign - and we all know that isn't true - or on cover of a NZ Tourism brochure for possible visitors.

Incidentally I have an Australian passport. I got this, even though I was born in Greymouth, because the inefficient and poorly-run New Zealand Passport Office makes it too difficult for its own citizens to get such documentation. I have witnessed it time and time again - so I went to the Australian Passport Office, satisfied their criteria, and obtained in quick time a brand spanking new Ozzie document. So a boy from Greymouth now travels on an Ozzie passport because of his own country's bureaucratic inadequacies. I wonder if I can get one of theirs (the Poms) too and travel at Her Majesty's pleasure; maybe a US Green Card, or the creme de la creme - a Swiss passport.

Enough of this introspective rambling

inanga out

screen presentation courtesy of Picasa 3, Smugmug, Google and Mozilla Firefox 2009
See photo in original gallery.
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